


Different Meetings

by samuelbyrnes



Series: Paul Rovia Appreciation Week 2019 [4]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Paul Rovia Appreciation Week, Paul Rovia Appreciation Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 15:24:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17880314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samuelbyrnes/pseuds/samuelbyrnes
Summary: *skids in* Made it.Basically, this was a freebie kinda day, so I decided to go with a classic: different first meeting. Essentially, it's "Paul flees a fallen Hilltop and manages to find himself in Georgia, where Daryl/Team Family finds him and take him in." In a way, I did it because was (in my opinion) the best season(s) from the show...also, because I wanted Paul to meet that version of Daryl rather than the grumpy season 6 version (which didn't happen here, but fingers crossed for a sequel).





	Different Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> *skids in* Made it.
> 
> Basically, this was a freebie kinda day, so I decided to go with a classic: different first meeting. Essentially, it's "Paul flees a fallen Hilltop and manages to find himself in Georgia, where Daryl/Team Family finds him and take him in." In a way, I did it because was (in my opinion) the best season(s) from the show...also, because I wanted Paul to meet that version of Daryl rather than the grumpy season 6 version (which didn't happen here, but fingers crossed for a sequel).

Ask anyone and they'll tell you that being on the road warps your sense of time. You're not sure if it's been days or weeks or even _months_ since you started walking. Trying to keep track eventually got lost in the haze, became less of a concern the longer you walk.

Paul never kept track. He'd been too busy fleeing from the burning ruins of Hilltop, and then from the men who burned the place. They must have had a range of where they were willing to chase him because Paul hadn't seen any of them for a while. For a long time, it was just him and the walkers. Rarely would he come across other people, but thankfully, they mostly went their separate ways without issue. Of those he had trouble with, he had no choice but to divert and run...or kill them. He tried to not think too much about it as he kept moving, telling himself over and over that it was self defense, but sometimes it ate at him. 

"Conceal, don't feel," he would mumble to himself, then chuckle softly. "Just let it go." 

He was pretty sure he was passing state lines; he knew for sure that wherever he was going was a much warmer climate. Good. He was tired of freezing. It didn't stop him from wearing his jacket, even though he could feel how much he was sweating under it. The thing kept him from being bit more than once, after all. On the other hand, heat exhaustion was a hell of a thing and Paul probably should have known better, especially since he was dehydrated on top of it all. Cursing himself, he stumbled into a small town, into a building. He didn't check for walkers as he fell against a wall and slid down, trying to regulate his breathing and failing. His head was pounding and black spots danced in his vision. He sent out a silent prayer as he gave in and he passed out. 

~ 

The next thing Paul was aware of was the feeling of something cool on his forehead. It felt divine on his overheated skin and he leaned into it with a soft sound. He froze when he heard a sharp inhale, trying to force his muddled thoughts into order. He remembered feeling overheated and tired. He remembered stumbling into a building for safety and collapsing to the floor...and then nothing. Someone must have found him and brought him back to their community, but why? He didn't realize he was whimpering softly until he heard soft shushing sounds. He then heard them speaking to him, though it sounded muffled, out of focus. 

"You...safe here," a voice murmured. "Noth...harm...safe." 

It seemed all too much and Paul passed out again. 

~ 

The next time he woke, he could open his eyes. He still felt terrible, but not as bad as it was. He stared up at the ceiling, noting the greenish-grey hue and the lines of cracks. He swallowed thickly, grimacing at the too-dry scratch. He groaned softly and tried moving, freezing when he couldn't. Seconds later, he was thrashing, letting out soft little sounds of distress. He couldn't hear anything under the pounding rush of panic, but someone must have heard him. There were hands suddenly on him, but they were gone as soon as they were there. He startled when something cool dropped onto his forehead, clearing his mind enough to hear someone speaking. 

"You're safe here, no one's going to hurt you," the voice said. "No walkers to hurt you, either." 

Paul licked his lips, forcing his breathing to slow as he listened to the voice. Whoever it was kept telling him he was safe and that no one would hurt him. Slowly, he exhaled and opened his eyes, turning his head enough to see who it was that was speaking. It was a woman, with shoulder length brown hair and a gentle smile, though her eyes were less welcoming. Her smile widened when she saw Paul looking at her. 

"Better?" she asked. 

Paul licked his lips again and nodded. The woman nodded back and reached out for a cup of water, raising her brows in question. Paul nodded quickly and she brought the cup to his lips, gently tipping it so he could drink. Paul knew he made some sort of noise when the water hit his parched throat because the woman chuckled softly. He sighed softly when the cup was empty, letting his head flop back down onto the pillows. The woman put the cup down, then stared at him, contemplative. Paul looked at her, brow furrowed. 

"Where?" he asked roughly. 

"You're in a community," the woman replied, "behind secure walls and locked doors." She pauses and her face contorts briefly. "My people found you out there half-dead, thought you might not survive. That's why we had to restrain you, for your protection and our own." 

Paul picks his head up to look at the cuffs around his wrist, tugging a bit at them with a frown. He lets his head fall back, staring at the ceiling. 

"How long?" 

The woman bobs her head. "About a week," she replied. "It'll probably be another week or so before you feel better." 

Paul scoffs. "Be fine in a few days," he said. "Be on my way, then." 

The woman's silent and Paul turns his head, frowning when he sees her face awash in concern before becoming determined, mouth set. 

"How many walkers have you killed?" she asked. 

Paul blinks, brow furrowing. "A lot," he eventually replied. 

The woman nods. "How many people?" 

Paul looks away, replying, "Too many." 

The woman's voice is soft when she asks, "Why?" 

Paul grimaces, scowling at the ceiling. "When negotiating or running doesn't cut it, there's often no other choice." 

The woman hums softly. "I think you might have a place here," she said, smiling lightly when Paul gives her a look. "I'll have to talk to the others, but you seem like good people." She stands then. "I'm Maggie, by the way." 

"Paul," Paul said, lips twitching. "Some people used to call me Jesus." 

Maggie's smile widens, reaching out to grasp Paul's hand, squeezing gently. Paul squeezes back before releasing her hand and she walks out. He twitches a little when the door creaks closed, only seeming to just realize that he was inside a prison. 

"Well," he mumbled to himself. "Can't be too bad. A prison's about a secure as you can get these days." 

He closes his eyes then, sleep quickly following.


End file.
